


Confirmation

by idelthoughts



Category: Highlander: The Raven, Highlander: The Series, Murdoch Mysteries
Genre: 1890s, Canadian Language Politics, Crisis of Faith, Crossover, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Historical, Inaccurate Catholicism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 11:15:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13075716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idelthoughts/pseuds/idelthoughts
Summary: Detective Murdoch seeks out Father Liam after the unexpected death of a suspect—a suspect who is currently hiding in Liam's office.Or:A detective, a thief, and a priest walk into a church.





	Confirmation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [idontlikegravy (subcircus)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/subcircus/gifts).



In 1885, Father Liam rolled into Toronto on the Grand Trunk Railway for a new posting and a new start after an accidental high-profile death involving an array of votive candles and surprisingly flammable vestments.

In comparison to the tightly-packed streets of New York which he’d recently left, the blossoming Canadian city looked like it had been carved raw from the countryside. It was a quaint metropolis just big enough to blend into, full of friendly and affable people.

Even though it had been over a century since he’d seen the green hills of home, and he’d now spent more years rattling around the New Land than he’d ever spent in Ireland, his lilt remained as unchanged as his countenance. The local Irish Catholic community welcomed him with roaring camaraderie, beyond pleased to have a Father from the homeland. The open arms soothed the sting of losing his New York parish, which he’d loved like a family, and it didn’t take long to feel settled once more. By nature, Liam forged connections quickly—a skill that kept him from drifting too far from society and losing the will to keep his head, like happened to so many Immortals.

That, and having a higher calling beyond the Game. Liam’s responsibility rose above his own survival, and that kept him going, even through the difficult times.

Spanning the divide between the Irish and French Catholics in Toronto quickly proved to be one of those difficult times.

It struck him as petty and small to let a small thing like language stand between two peoples who believed in the same principles so he set about a personal crusade of unity. Despite his persistence and personal outreach, Liam’s hard-headed optimism was equally met by the deeply ingrained bigotry, and progress was slow to make the two sides meet each other in harmony, even once a week on Sundays in a house of God.  He hoped that it would be a good long while before anyone noticed that Father Liam never got any older, because bridging this divide might take a lifetime—an Immortal lifetime, if progress continued at this crawling pace.

The did his best to get to know each and every person in his care, to talk with all, especially those receiving the cold shoulder from the English majority, and to gently chastise those who would exclude anyone from seeking comfort from God. His door was always open to those who wished to seek his counsel, no matter their heritage.

Babies were born, baptized, and then confirmed, and still his congregation still remained divided. The fervor of his early commitment to the cloth had long since waned, and he felt the challenges of his posting wear on him, sucking at his heels and bringing up a question he’d asked more that once in difficult times: had he made the right decision? Was this truly the way to honour the memory of a promise he’d made so long ago?

The decision to step away from the Game and everything he’d known was not made lightly, but was this truly the way to effect peaceful change in the world, when his efforts made so little difference?

One particular member of the church stood out amongst the settled families and occasional drifting workers, excluded for particular reasons that had very little to do with language.

Detective William Murdoch was one of very few lawmen and government workers who graced the doors of St. Michael’s. The congregation kept a wary distance when he arrived amongst them, despite his faultless mannerly behaviour; Toronto did not easily welcome Catholicism into the Protestant hierarchy, and fierce oppression of the working class Irish came at the hands of those in power.

However, Liam wagered Murdoch experienced the same distance amongst his professional betters, thanks to his religious choices and reserved nature.

It never benefited a man to be alone, and so much like his approach with the French and English divide, Liam set about making the Lord’s house a unified one. He went out of his way to shake Murdoch’s hand after Mass and speak with him in a warm and welcoming manner.

Over the months of his efforts, Liam developed a fondness for the man whose burning passion for knowledge led him down fascinating paths. The world was changing rapidly, and most of Liam’s modern education was thanks to Detective Murdoch’s tangents between confessed sins as he lapsed into thrilled and breathless descriptions of new inventions. Liam looked forward to his time with the curious, idealistic young man.

Murdoch arrived for confession and Mass every Sunday like clockwork, and spoke easily within that context, but otherwise maintained his reserve.

And so, it was with some surprise that Liam found Detective Murdoch outside his office door in the church Thursday, hat deferentially held in his hand and gaze cast to his feet as he knocked quietly.

“William,” Liam said in greeting. He closed the notebook which contained his sermon notes for the coming Sunday, and rose to greet the detective and shake his hand. “What brings you here this day?”

Murdoch fiddled with the hat in his hands, rotating the brim through his fingers before resolving himself to an answer and raising his head to properly meet Liam’s gaze.

“I had hoped to seek your spiritual counsel. There is something which…” Murdoch cleared his throat. “Which sits heavy on my soul. I’m not certain I know what to do.”

Concerned and surprised by the personal request, Liam quickly invited Murdoch to join him in the nave to speak, and they found a spot in a pew near the sanctuary.

Murdoch continued to run the brim of his hat between his fingers as he sat, round and round until he seemed to take note of the action and purposefully set it on his knees. Liam had time to note the rumpled suit and hair that was normally so neat, and the mud speckling his trousers and shoes. Whatever had transpired had deeply affected him, if it could bring such a normally fastidious man directly here in such a state.

“What is it, William?” Liam prompted quietly.

Murdoch drew a breath and looking up to the stained glass window, pale and watery in the light of the weak early spring sun.

“I let a woman die—let her kill herself. Through my arrogance, through my failure, she’s lost her immortal soul.”

Liam released his breath slowly. A pang of sympathy hit him, as sharp for the poor woman as it was for Murdoch’s pain. He said nothing, however, hoping to draw the story from Murdoch at his own pace. It took a while, but soon he began to talk again.

“She was a thief,” Murdoch continued. “She’d recently taken a position as a personal lady to Mayor Kennedy’s wife. She earned their trust, then used her position to take a great deal of money from their bank. We arrived at the house to arrest her, but she fled from custody. I thought we had her when we reached the river, but…” Murdoch shook his head and closed his eyes.

“You can speak freely, ” Liam assured him quietly.

Murdoch nodded his thanks, and rallied to continue once more.

“When I told her she was under arrest, she answered, ‘Not in this life.’ I didn’t know what she meant until she flung herself into the river. Not to swim—she merely let herself be swept away. Her dress dragged her down. With the river in spring flood, we never found her body.”

Liam put a hand on his shoulder, coaxing Murdoch’s attention away from the painful memory and to the present.

“God does not hold you accountable for the actions of others, William. You couldn’t have known what she’d do.”

“But I should have,” Murdoch objected, a flare of anger colouring his voice. “I’d met the woman several times in my investigation, and I knew her to be reckless. I took it a the arrogance of one who’d never faced just consequences, and so I told the officers to let her run until she could truly see she had no options, to corner her at the river—to teach her a lesson that crime would never pay in the end. I could have reached out to her. I was close enough to restrain her, but I didn’t think it necessary. I thought she would capitulate when she saw there was nowhere she could go. I didn’t think…”

Murdoch trailed off into silence. His shoulders slumped as his stiff spine relaxed and he settled back into the pew, his exhaustion evident.

“Only God knows what’s in the hearts of others,,” Liam reminded him. “You cannot see all. And He knows you would never intend to drive her to such lengths.”

“Yet, I did. I put her in an impossible, frightening position because I thought it my place to teach her a lesson. I’m a detective, not a judge. That was never my decision to make, and now it’s her soul that bears the consequence.” He swept a hand over his face, grimaced and lowered his head once more. “I don’t know if I deserve a position as detective if I can so badly abuse my authority.”

The silent chill of the church settled over them, and Liam mentally whispered a prayer.

The barb at the heart of this matter had struck deep and left the type of wound that was the slowest to heal. Murdoch had devoted himself to a profession that was as much a calling as Liam’s own, and it demanded as much selflessness and faith. Acting as a guardian against humanity’s failings, bearing constant witness to the darkness within people would challenge anyone, but the doubts it raised from within were infinitely harder to face—guilt and perceived failure could drive a person from their path as much as temptation could lure them away.

It was the effort that meant as much as the outcome of each decision, but that was nearly impossible to take solace in when a mistake could result in a death. Liam thought of his long-ago answered prayers, and was grateful that his own revelations had not come at the cost of someone’s life.

“As you say, you are not a judge, neither in the realm of law or in that of God,” Liam finally said. “One action cannot change who you are, or the value of what you do. You’re still a moral man who strives to reflect and do your best. Have faith in yourself, even when it is difficult to do so.”

Murdoch was silent at this, and it took a gentle nudge to bring him back to the present. Startled from his thoughts, Murdoch gave a short and jerky nod before he stood. He offered a short little bow, stiff with embarrassment.

“Thank you, Father,” Murdoch said, sheepish. “I apologize for my unannounced arrival and burdening you with this.”

“Never a burden,” Liam assured him. He offered his hand, and Murdoch hesitantly took it. Liam clasped it firmly. “Rest, and think on this again when you’ve had some time to process and let the matter settle.”

When Murdoch took his leave, he was subdued and reflective.

Liam hoped his words would have some effect, though truly the matter was down to Murdoch and the fortitude of his spirit. No amount of platitudes could maintain the flame of faith in someone else.

  


 

Liam took some time to kneel in silent prayer before he busied himself lighting candles to warm the dark corners for any who took refuge during the night. Once done, he returned to his little office to finish off his sermon notes and go find dinner.

However, he paused in mystification as he encountered a long streak of mud smeared along the floor from the main doors leading into the nave. It was a wide and streaking path, patchy in places, like a damp dirty mop had been dragged along the floor behind someone as they ran. He followed the trail, which led towards his office.

Then it washed over him; a thrill of sensation that crept down his spine and curdled his stomach.

His heart leapt and his hand curled to his side, searching for a sword that hadn’t rested there for a hundred years. Even the safety of Holy Ground was not enough to assuage the unsettled instinct which screamed at him. Liam crept along with silent steps, hugging the wall, until he neared his office and was close enough to peer around the doorway.

“Thought you’d never finish up,” said a familiar voice.

In Liam’s chair, a bedraggled muddy mess, sat Amanda. As though it had only been a handful of minutes rather than decades since their last encounter, she grinned at him and winked.

“Hello, Liam. The dog collar’s a good look.”

Liam quickly put the very obvious facts of the day together—a thief and a dramatic swan-dive into the river, and now a sopping-wet Immortal blue with cold seated at his desk.

His racing heart settled a fraction, and he carefully shut the door behind him as he gave her a reproving look.

“I’ll thank you not to torture the members of my parish, Amanda.” It should have been more stern, but he was already so glad to see her familiar smile that his own was creeping forth.

“I think it’s sweet. It’s nice to have someone worrying over my immortal soul, even if it is a copper.” She waved a lazy hand in the direction of the departed Murdoch, affecting indifference, but her own smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“I’m fairly certain Detective Murdoch doesn’t deserve to agonize over your death for the rest of his life.”

“Most people don’t do that,” Amanda said pointedly. “They get over it.”

“Some people find death a hard thing to have on their conscience,” he returned.

“So I’ve heard. If you ask me, a conscience sounds like a terrible burden.” She leaned forward over the desk and flipped through his notebook, leaving muddy streaks on the pages of sermon notes. “You’re really taking this religion thing seriously, aren’t you? Spiritual guide to the constabulary, upstanding moral pillar of the community…” Amanda stood, and made a face as she plucked at the wet dress clinging to her legs. “Ugh, I need to get out of this thing. Got an extra habit a girl can change into?”

Liam broke and lapsed into laughter, and Amanda beamed at him. In two strides he met her and swept her into a tight hug, ignoring the damp that seeped into his clothes.

“It’s good to see you,” he said.

“You too, old friend.” Her arms were powerfully strong, and she sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Oh, and you’re so _warm_.”

Liam pulled back to hold her at arm’s length. Time and fashions had changed, and her teeth chattered between blue lips, but she was the same as ever. No matter the circumstances, he would always be pleased to see her.

“Come, let’s get you sorted. What kind of priest would I be to refuse sanctuary to even the lowliest amongst us?”

Amanda scowled and poked him hard in the ribs, but let herself be shepherded along towards a hot bath, a meal, and a change of clothes. She leaned into his side with a relaxed sigh and he wrapped an arm around her, truly pleased at how much this felt like a family homecoming.

By evening they sat warming themselves by the fire in Liam’s meager quarters. While Amanda had eaten and bathed, Liam had collected some clothes from the church donations bin for her to replace her ruined ones.

Amanda stretched her stockinged feet out towards the fire, wriggled her toes with a luxurious sigh, and sank back into the armchair. Liam chuckled at her childish enjoyment and took a sip of his tea.

Her shifting shadow made the light play along the gleaming shaft of her sword which she’d set on the small table between their chairs. It was a short and sturdy weapon best suited to close-quarters fighting; easy to secret away, but more than enough to take a head. He’d seen her remove it and set it within easy reach—even on Holy Ground, her mind was on the Game.

“How long are you going to stay here?”

He tore his attention away from the sword and his wandering thoughts. Amanda had her chin resting on her fist, elbow on the arm of the chair. Her gaze flicked meaningfully to the sword, then back to him, and she arched an eyebrow.

He set his tea down on the table next to her sword to delay his answer. His fingers briefly grazed the handle, but he pulled back and laced his fingers together over his belly and relaxed into his own chair.

“Toronto is a lovely city. I’m in no rush to leave,” Liam said lightly. “In the summer, you can—”

“Liam,” Amanda said, drawing his name out. “You know I didn’t mean Toronto.”

“And when I _do_ leave Toronto,” he continued, as though she hadn’t interrupted, “it will be for another position in the Church. I made a promise—you know that.”

“As repayment for God answering your prayers. Right.” Amanda turned her face away to stare at the fire in uncharacteristic moody silence.

Liam waited her out, which didn’t take long. Amanda shifted and fidgeted in her chair until she finally got up to make an idle tour of Liam’s quarters. He saw in her carefully aimless wanderings the assessment of entrances and exits, the sizing up of resources and defenses, and the cataloguing of his life in the things around her.

Whatever she saw, it did not entirely please her.

Liam sat forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees, pitching his voice to catch her attention.

“Amanda, what brought you here? Aside from the fat wallets of the Canadian government officials, that is.”

She gave him a sideways look, then shrugged eloquently and leaned her hip against the low bookshelf beside his single cot.

“I heard some stories about an Immortal in Toronto lurking around Holy Ground. Since there aren’t that many of us who take up the cloth these days, I thought it might be you.” She glanced around his quarters before looking to him again. “I wanted to see how you were.”

“You wanted to talk me out of this,” he countered.

“No, it’s not that. I just…” She sighed, then threw her hands up in the air. “Liam, if you were mortal and made a lifelong commitment to the Church, fine! But an Immortal lifetime? Even God has to have some kind of statute of limitations.”

Liam chuckled. He expected she would pick up the conversation exactly where they’d left it off forty years ago in Boston.

“I wish you could understand, I’m…”

He paused. He’d been about to offer the trite _“I’m fine,”_ and dismiss her concerns and arguments with the same blithe assurance that this was where he belonged, and that he never questioned the rightness of it all.

As an old friend—as the friend who’d seen him set the first foot on the path that had brought him here—he owed her much more than that.

“It began as penance. A repayment of a debt I owed,” Liam acknowledged. “I had the drive of knowing that what I did was right, that I owed it to God, to that woman, to myself to honour the gift of having my prayers answered.

Amanda made an unhappy noise and folded her arms, but Liam held up a hand to forestall her answer.

“But it’s more than that, now. It’s become service, and one I believe in. There are times when it’s wearying, I won’t lie. I’ve asked myself if this is the way, as many times as you’ve asked me. But I _want_ to be here. I have a purpose, one that’s much more than mere survival. I want to help others find that same purpose, and to hold fast to their faith.”

The truth of his words held a clarity that surprised him. When it came to it, there was nowhere else he’d rather be. The heart-pounding excitement of wielding a sword, the roaring rush of a Quickening, the excitement of the chase and the hunt… Even those couldn’t compare to the deep and abiding rightness of the last century.

“Once, I thought that Immortality was my second chance. Now, I realize it was this.” He touched the collar around his neck, and then drifted to the cross hanging on the chain and resting by his heart.

When he looked to Amanda, her eyes were large and soft, and he swallowed the unexpected lump in his throat.

She uncrossed her arms, came to him and kissed him on the forehead with soft benevolence, then cupped his face as she knelt at his feet. He put his hand over hers, and he let her see the sincerity of his words. He let out a shaky break and offered her a tired smile.

“Boy, you Catholics do guilt like no one else,” she said.

“I prefer to think of it as conscientious commitment,” Liam said lightly, and Amanda laughed.

“Yes, you would. Well, you’re damned good at it, from what I can see,” she said, sincere and kind.

Her approval settled into his chest, and he felt warmed through. With a last pat of his cheek, she stood up and flounced into her chair once more with a heavy mock-sigh.

“Never thought I’d see that glory-seeking hothead from the battlefield as the gentle Father, but I suppose it suits you.”

“I’ve had some practice in the last century,” Liam said dryly. “And I shall have even more now, what with you convincing God-fearing folk they’ve driven innocent women to choose eternal damnation. Really, Amanda—throwing yourself into the river? Next time you visit, settle for forcing me to do my soul-searching, rather than everyone you meet. The poor man is scarred. ”

“Sometimes you have to get creative. At least he has a wise and experienced Father to turn to in his time of crisis.” Amanda batted her lashes with exaggerated innocence.

“Well, I shall have to do my best to counsel him in the wake of your departure, and find some way to assure him that he’s not responsible for your suicidal insanity, and that you carry on in God’s good books. Or at least I hope you do,” Liam said with a snort. “Rather depends what kind of mischief you’ve gotten into since I saw you last.”

“Oh, nothing serious. Bit of this, bit of that,” she said with a dismissive wave. “Some time in England, some time on the Continent.” She sat up abruptly and folded her legs under her, a sudden gleam in her eye. “But I _did_ meet the Duke of Wellington. I spent some time working for his sister and brother-in-law. Lovely couple, very welcoming—right up until the Star of India went missing and everyone got very accusatory, that is…”

Amanda and Liam talked late into the evening, sharing stories and camaraderie. Liam let Amanda sleep in his cot while he curled up in the chair, and by morning she was gone as though she’d never been there.

 

 

A few days later after Sunday Mass, Liam spotted Detective Murdoch standing to the side as the congregation slowly flowed out of St. Michael’s. Murdoch politely waited for Liam to hang up his vestments and then came over to greet him.

“Detective Murdoch, a pleasure to see you again.”

“And you, Father Liam. A fine sermon, as always.”

He invited Murdoch into his office and set about boiling water for tea over the small fire, still lit during the day to beat back the chill.

“I’m glad you stayed, William. I wanted to speak to you about the matter we discussed the other day,” Liam said as he sat on the corner of his desk.

He’d given the matter much thought, and hoped he had some words that could alleviate Murdoch’s burden. His own settled certainty about his personal path helped, and he wished to share what he could.

“Yes, that’s what I hoped to speak with you about as well.” His brows were knit in consternation, and he paused to retrieve something from his coat pocket. “I received a letter from her in the mail yesterday.”

“A letter?” Liam repeated, incredulous. “She sent you a letter?”

He had assumed that Amanda had left Toronto after her departure in the early hours of the morning, and that she was safely away. Then again, she did enjoy dancing merrily through the chaos she provoked. Still, this was a little much, even for her.

Murdoch produced a small envelope addressed in a looping, artful hand. He removed it from the envelope, unfolded it and read from the page.

“‘Dear Detective Murdoch; many apologies for our hasty parting the other night. It was a pleasure meeting you, however brief the acquaintance. May your soul rest easy knowing I am alive and well, and that I will spend my freedom seeking penitence for being such—’” Murdoch paused and cleared his throat, and continued in an embarrassed tone, “‘Such a very bad girl.’”

Liam pinched the bridge of his nose, not certain if he wanted to laugh or groan. Bless Amanda and her warped sense of kindness. Murdoch was pink to the tips the ears by the time he finished reading.

“Well, it seems you are unburdened from the responsibility of her her supposed death,” Liam said.

“I suppose that is true,” Murdoch allowed. “Though I can’t imagine why she would thwart such a risky and successful escape plan to reveal that she is still alive, especially to the investigator of her crime.”

“Who can know the workings of the criminal mind?” Liam said, raising his hands wide as though in supplication. “Truly a mystery only God can solve.”

Murdoch hummed thoughtfully, then folded the note carefully and put it back in his pocket. He stood and offered Liam his hand once more, which Liam shook.

“I do believe, Father, that this is one mystery that the Toronto Constabulary can contribute to solving. We now have a suspect to pursue, and a lead to follow. ” Murdoch tapped the inked markings over the stamp at the corner of the envelope. “The postal mark is from Buffalo, and I will be in touch with the police there to give them her likeness. I’ll ask her for her motivation once she is in custody.”

“Looks like you’ve answered your question of whether or not you should continue with your work,” Liam said, folding his arms. The grave doubt Murdoch had experienced had been quickly wiped away by the mystery at hand, and being relieved of the burden of Amanda’s death. Liam hoped that in the future, Murdoch’s challenges would be equally kind to him.

Murdoch smiled and chuckled, tipping his head to acknowledge Liam’s statement and the humour in the extreme contrasts of his mood.

“Yes, I think I know the answer. And, now I will warn those pursuing her of her recklessness, and take better measures to secure her safely. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

“No, I don’t imagine you will,” Liam said. Poor Amanda; if any mortal stood a chance of catching her, it might well be the persistent Detective Murdoch. Liam hoped she was well away from Buffalo by now.

Murdoch left and Liam sat back in his chair. For the next little while, he’d keep an eye on the newspapers—just in case he needed to help Amanda find a less traumatic way out of jail.

Amanda had brought answers questions Liam hadn’t even realized he was asking himself. He was more settled and sure of himself than he had since he’d left New York. Toronto might be a city divided, his congregation divided and his mission a long and weary one, but that meant this was where he could do the most good. Only persistence and faith would create change, and even one person at a time was progress.

He hoped it wouldn’t be too long before his and Amanda’s paths crossed again—and now he knew that whenever it was, he would be on the same path he walked now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you as always to my very kind beta for all the hand-holding.
> 
> Happy shortcuts, idontlikegravy!


End file.
